Cell
by xXMethereaperXx
Summary: None of their contingency plans, none of their drills, prepared them for what had started it. It was so absurd that no one in their right mind, or out of it for that matter, could foresee such a thing. Because, after all, who could resist a ringing phone?
1. Introduction To Destruction

Hello everyone. I've decided to go and complicate my already hectic schedule by adding yet another story.

This is going to be a "zombie" survival story based on Stephen King's Cell.

It will have a lot of originality and as you already know, will be rated M. Mostly for violence and I might pepper in some 'Sentence Enhancers' every couple… seconds. Or rarely, we'll see how it goes. While it won't be as detailed as the original, it will be similar and faster paced.

As of now I am only planning this Prologue/Introduction until I see if it's something you'll want to keep reading, or if it's not worth the trouble.

So, let's get started.

07/16/14: Did some editing and added a little bit. Nothing major.

* * *

It started at exactly 3:03 P.M. eastern standard time on October 1 across America, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Japan, and Great Britain. That was all that the military could confirm before declaring martial law. Even that wasn't enough and they fled, as had everyone else capable of doing so.

None of their contingency plans, none of their drills, prepared them for what had started it. It was so absurd that no one in their right mind, or out of it for that matter, could foresee such a thing.

Because, after all, who could resist a ringing phone?

**[][October 1, 1:45 P.M.][]**

"_We have been cleared to land and are on final approach," _the intercom said as the flight attendants hurried down the aisles to their own seats, _"Please turn off all electronic devices, return your chairs and tray-tables to their upright position and buckle your seat-belts."_

Mordecai hit the power button on his phone, the screen dimly shown the dead battery indicator for a moment and disappeared. Sighing, he returned it to the pocket of his jacket and buckled his seat belt.

Opening the shutter of the window, he looked out onto the distant tarmac of the airport they rapidly approached. The rubber stained runway pointed out to him that he was in a large metal and plastic tube speeding toward Earth at an high amount of speed, reminding him in an instant why he hated flying.

'_A bird afraid of flying,' _he thought with a shake of his head.

He lurched forward as they came in contact with the ground, a dull screeching promising the brakes were functioning. Drastically slowing, it wasn't long until the plane was stopped and the engines began to idle down.

"_We have landed at Preston Airway, the local time is 1:50 P.M. and the weather is clear and sunny. Thank you for flying Parkway, we ask that you remain seated until we finish taxiing to the terminal."_

Glancing at his watch he nodded, positive he'd be able to catch the next train home.

**[][October 1, 2:23 P.M.][]**

"C'mon guys," Benson said into the walkie, "We don't have much longer, where are ya?"

Looking over the freshly cleaned picnic table, he nodded. Flipping through the pages of his clipboard, he marked the task off the list, still awaiting answer from the rest of his workers.

"How's it looking?"

Glancing back at Rigby, he shook his head, "Still waiting on Skips and Thomas to get back with the food. Muscle Man-"

Interrupted by the burst of static, he waited for the response.

"Yo, Benson! We're almost finished, we just have to put the mower away."

"Alright, and don't forget to lock the shed this time!"

"I always lock the shed!" the voice protested.

Unaware he forgot to release the button, Five's voice faintly said, "Then how come I have to double check every day?"

"Come on, that was once!"

"A day, maybe!"

Benson sighed and raised his walkie, "Let go of the button!"

"Aww, com-" he began, obeying half way through the sentence.

"Anyway," Rigby said, wiping at the dirt on his Park jacket, "I was thinking I should go and meet Mordecai at the train station."

"I don't know, we still have some work that needs to be done."

"I can keep him busy," Rigby offered, "You give me my phone back and call when everything's ready."

"Skips has your phone."

"What?!"

Benson shrugged, "Don't text during the morning meeting and I won't have to take it from you."

"What if someone calls and no one answers?! Even worse, what if someone does and he answers?!"

"Then you'll learn your lesson," he said, flipping back to front page and clicking his pen closed, "Where's he coming in from?"

"Belmont terminal."

"Take your walkie, it should barely reach that far. I'll send a ping when we're ready."

Rigby nodded and turned to walk away, "I'll be back, then. And tell Skips to not answer my phone if it rings!"

"Yeah, I'll do that," he answered sarcastically.

**[][October 1, 2:55 P.M.][]**

Stepping out of the glass door being held by a tired looking man in a suit, Mordecai sheltered his eyes from the sun. The train ride and the long trek through the tourist infested station was just enough to make his vision adjust to the dim, buzzing lights.

"Thanks," he said, shaking off the curt mumble he received from the man rushing inside.

Once the blinding haze began to lift, he was looking down on the busy square below. At the bottom of the stairway was a gathering of people nearing the double digits, many perusing the assortment of booths and tables selling cheaply made items and nic-nacs for what he was sure were absurd prices. Beyond was Belmont Arms, a hotel chain that promised luxury for less, that is if you could believe the sign. Beside and beyond were cramped stores and restaurants that likewise promised the same thing. From his position he could make out the edge of a kitchen and appliance store he'd passed on his first trip to the station.

The Chef's Edge, the flickering neon sign had informed, the bright lights of the window looking down on the set of variously sized blades. The Filet-er, he remembered the small, brass plaque stated.

Shaking his head, he began down the stairs, the thought of wading through a sea of mediocrity making each step he took feel heavier. Glancing at the booths, he tapped the pocket of his jacket, glad he picked up the souvenir from a shop inside, not out. Twenty-five dollars seemed high priced for a snow globe featuring a sunglass wearing snowman resting in a lawn chair with 'California Dreaming' in winding script, but it was of an obviously higher quality than the garbage the vendors outside were peddling.

Safely out of the crowd, he began considering his travel home. The busy street was packed with cars and buses, a rather large Duck Boat, and the sparse assortment of taxis floating by with their drivers making sure you knew they were angry at the traffic.

"It's about time," the familiar voice yelled from farther down the sidewalk.

"Is that you, god?"

"Yeah, you kept me waiting too long."

Mordecai slapped Rigby's hand away and laughed, "Come on, dude. You see what I had to wade through?"

Glancing over the wrought iron fence, Rigby shook his head, "That's when you start yelling, He has a gun!."

"Nah, they put you on a list for that, now."

"So, how was it?"

Slinging his backpack from his shoulders, he opened a small pouch and removed a scuffed and knicked guitar pick.

"I don't know, you tell me."

Rigby's eyes widened to the size of grapefruits, a rather humorous sight on his small face, and he grabbed the plastic triangle from his hand, "You got 'Atom' Joneson's guitar pick?!"

He nodded proudly, "Had to snatch it from a walking tackle box, but I got it."

"That's awesome," he said, extending it for him to take it.

Mordecai shook his head, "It's yours."

"Aw, yeah!" he shouted, sliding it into a pocket of his wallet for safe keeping.

"So," Mordecai began while picking up his back pack, "Should we try to find a cab?"

Rigby shrugged and they began walking, "They're planning a surprise party for you, I'm supposed to keep you busy while they finish."

"Lame," he said with a laugh, secretly touched they'd go that far out of their way to welcome him back.

"I figure we just walk back. It's only a couple miles and they should be finished by then."

Mordecai nodded, dreading the walk after several hours of sitting still on the plane but eager to catch up on things he's missed while he was away.

"So, who's all gonna be there?"

"The usual people. Eileen had to finish her shift then she'd be there. CJ was busy, and Margaret couldn't make it."

He nodded, "Yeah, I talked to her before I got on the plane. Said she was visiting her parents this weekend. Oh, look what I got for her."

Digging his hand into the pocket of his jacket, he removed the snow globe.

"Dude, that's lame! Lamer than the party!"

"Look, don't let your jealousy get the best of you," he said, returning his sacred object to the pocket, "I'll get you a snow globe of your own someday."

Rigby ignored the comment while his senses kicked in, his head spinning in the direction of the sound echoing around them.

Following his ears, he found the modified van sitting at the curb, it's loudspeaker blaring a quick, ringing tune. On the side next to the window was a mural of an ice-cream cone dancing with a popsicle. A man in a white jumpsuit leaned over the counter and handed a chocolate cone to the man in line.

"How about some ice cream for the walk?"

"What are you, a creepy uncle?"

Mordecai sighed, "Do you want some or not?"

"Fine, fine," he said while walking to a nearby bench, "I'll liberate this bench from the seagulls."

Stepping into line behind two teenage girls, he looked toward the front of the line, doing his best to tune out the conversation they were nearly yelling.

The man stepped out of line and a woman in a power suit stepped to the counter, talking on a wireless headset she had screwed into her ear. In one hand she held a leash with a yapping fluff ball of a poodle on the other end, pacing the ground at it's master's feet. In the other she held her purse, a small designer bag he'd seen in the window at one of the fancy- or expensive, either one- shops.

"Chocolate sundae," she shouted at the man who nodded and began to make the order, leaving her to tell her friend about how she had her nails done.

The teenagers were still talking about the same person- from what he could tell- and the tone was the only thing that changed. One had blonde, short hair while the other's hair was darker but a similar length. He hadn't seen the style in a while, but he never kept up on the trending of Pixie haircuts either. On the hip of Pixie Light was a faded blue cell phone which began ringing mid sentence. The tone was familiar, but he couldn't place the name of the artist.

'_Cy, Sie?' _he thought, eventually giving up.

"Hello?" she'd asked, smiling and turning to her twin, "It's Morgan!"

Leaning in to listen to the call, Pixie Dark shouted, "Hey, Morgan!"

They continued listening, a giggle here and there being the only evidence they hadn't froze.

"That's $4.50," the man at the window said, holding a large plastic bowl filled with two peaks of vanilla ice cream as land slides of chocolate sauce were slowly receding down the side.

Raising her hand, Power-Woman continued speaking into her headset, "Hello? Hello, can you hear me?"

Mordecai gave the man a look saying, _'Can you believe how rude she is?' _to which the man answered with an indifferent shrug, showing that he was used to it.

The man in the van began to look down at his own phone, his ringtone being a basic, from the factory song.

"Morgan?" Pixie Light asked, covering her open ear with her free hand.

Mordecai glanced down the street, seeing a multitude of commuters, many on phones of their own.

"Hey, what the fuck?!"

Mordecai quickly turned his head in time to see Power-Woman lunge at the window, attempting to grab the man on the other side with her recently manicured pink claws. The fear inspired step back was enough to put himself out of her grasp. He dropped the sundae, leaving brown smudges down his otherwise flawless uniform, and grabbed her wrist, forcing her back through the window.

As she fell, the buttons on the front of her suit drug on the metal counter, leaving a clicking sound he was sure he'd remember forever.

She landed and let go of the leash in her hand, bellowing a sound that almost sounded like speech- _rast_, or maybe _crast_- and returned to trying to force herself inside of the van.

The frightened poodle began running away, it's pink and glittery leash trailing behind. It entered the street and a moment later was nothing more than a red and white streak on the pavement. Poor thing must have been yapping in puppy heaven before it realized what happened.

Pixie Light dropped her phone, allowing the blue rectangle to hit the pavement and split into several pieces. Emitting a guttural roar, she grabbed Power-Woman by the shoulders and pulled her backwards. At first Mordecai thought she was trying to protect the man in the ice cream truck, but that belief left him along with a large portion of his sanity.

Pixie Light spun the woman around and dug her small but undoubtedly strong teeth into the woman's neck, just one of the many underutilized functions of expensive orthodontic work. The ice cream man decided he had enough of this and sped off, smearing the already flattened remains of the animal.

"Who am I?!" Pixie Dark shouted as she began clawing at her head while Pixie Light was mutilating the woman only inches away.

Mordecai knew that he was in shock, but he also knew he had to do something.

With as much strength he could muster, he wrapped his hand around the object in his pocket and raised it over his head. The shadow he cast attracted the attention of his target, causing her to look up at him, her blood and gore covered mouth babbling unintelligible nonsense.

Swinging as hard as he could, the snow globe crashed into the side of her skull, leaving the object undamaged but also a deep thunk that rattled it's way up his arm. Dropping to the sidewalk, she landed with a similar sound but not a whisper more.

He turned to Pixie Dark, blood now streaming down her face.

"Hey," he said quietly, relieved for a moment when she turned toward him.

"Who am I?!" she shouted again.

She spun in a circle several times before she began sprinting away, full speed down a suddenly empty sidewalk, directly into the path of a street light, making no attempt to avoid it, crashing with enough force to send the glass cover clattering to the ground beside her.

"Holy shit," Rigby's voice said in disbelief.

Mordecai opened his mouth, but lacked the ability to continue.

It was in the background of what he witnessed that he began to understand just how bad everything had gotten in such a short time.

On the far side of the street, cars were frozen, many demolished beyond repair, many trapped and abandoned by their panicked owners. Several storefronts were destroyed, the faint ringing of an alarm reaching him from farther down. A large sedan was barreling toward the pileup where it swerved onto the sidewalk at the last second, sending bodies thumping over it's hood as the driver drove through the just as frightened pedestrians. Reaching the end of the blockage, he veered back onto the road, the engine roaring as the dented and bloody car screamed past them.

"Holy shit," he repeated.

Figuring he'd just seen what he had, Mordecai turned and found him looking up. Unfortunately he followed his gaze and his jaw dropped. There were people on the balconies of the hotel, the size of ants from the distance they were, but he knew what they were. Suddenly, one of the figures goes sailing off the edge, landing on a parked car. The instant they met, the car had crumpled into a flat rectangle as the explosion of blood, organs, and bones sprayed upward, painting the road and several people that passed.

"They fell!"

Rigby shook his head as several more dots began to plummet, "They're jumping!"

An explosion rang out somewhere behind them, not close enough to feel the tremor but enough to see a gray cloud of smoke begin rising into the air.

"That had to be at the airport!"

"What's going on?!"

The sound of metal striking metal brought them back to the menagerie of cars as a firetruck slammed into them, it's speed easily triple the posted limit. The large truck pushed them aside as if they were toys and sped by, it's siren and lights blaring. Shortly after, a line of police cars followed with an ambulance not far behind.

The sight of the ambulance reminded him of what had just happened, not even three minutes ago. Slinging his backpack to the ground, he knelt beside Pixie Light and jabbed a finger into the nape of her neck.

"She's still got a pulse," he said, looking to the puddle of blood that was already forming beside Power-Woman, deciding it wasn't worth the time.

"She killed that woman," Rigby mumbled, glancing around them.

"She's just a kid!" he shouted, "We have to get her help!"

"Watch out!"

Rigby took a step back, pointing to where a man in a tattered suit was running towards them, a large and bloody knife stabbing at the sky while he babbled the same nonsense Power-Woman had. Seeing them, running turned into a sprint and he shouted- this time it was _oolblyach_- as he stabbed himself with the blade.

The man had little interest in Mordecai, instead he focused on the smaller and weaker Rigby, the more primal instincts and common sense telling him he was the easier target.

Rigby continued shouting, far past the ability to move.

Grabbing his backpack, Mordecai shoved it between the two, watching as the long, polished blade entered the side and poked through the other, tangling itself in his bundle of clothes.

With an confused look, the man began to tug on the handle, his face contorting as he continued grunting.

_"Abolloya!"_ he shouted, looking between the backpack and Mordecai.

Coming to his senses, Rigby wrapped his arms around his waist and began to push while hooking his right leg behind his ankle. The man let go of the blade and toppled over, colliding with the pavement leaving a painful _thud_ in the air.

"Blah, blah, blah, to you, asshole!"

Mordecai looked at the hole in his backpack while Rigby kept him from standing. The hilt of the blade had entered the main compartment and refused to go back the way it came. Unzipping the compartment, he reached inside, wincing as his hand clasped around the handle which was slippery with the gelled blood of his fallen victims.

Rigby was panting, not from fatigue but from the adrenaline surging through his system.

More footsteps approached and a group of three looters streamed past, clutching white boxes with the word 'Panasonic' printed in light blue.

Running in the opposite direction was a police officer, his brown uniform stained with blood and smudges of black. Not even glancing at the thieves, he approached them, watching carefully as he crouched beside the man.

"He ran at us with a knife!" Rigby explained, taking his foot off his throat.

The officer nodded and flashed his light in the man's eyes, his other being occupied by his service revolver.

"The girl over there needs help," Mordecai said while jerking his head toward Pixie Light.

The officer glanced at her and the dead woman and shook his head, "Sir, what is the third planet from-"

His question was interrupted by a snarl and he quickly raised his weapon and pulled the trigger, spraying the sidewalk in a bath of blood as the bullet exited- Mordecai remembered seeing the sparks as it hit the pavement- with a stream of brain and skull following closely behind.

"Who's the first president of the United States of America?" he asked as he stood and turned to Mordecai.

"Washington," he answered slowly, still accepting what he'd seen.

"39X44?" he asked Rigby.

"I don't know!"

"He's not one of them, just stupid!"

"Yeah!" Rigby yelled in agreement.

"Alright, alright," the officer said hurriedly, "4+4?!"

"Eight!"

Nodding, he flipped the catch on his revolver and pushed the cylinder to the side. Dropping four spent shells to the ground, he refilled the empty chambers from the bullets on his belt. With his weapon ready to go, he removed a business card from the blood splattered breast pocket of his uniform.

"My name is Andrew McDougal, Sheriff of Belmont County. You may be called upon to testify in a trial about the actions i took today. I responded with what i determined to be the best possible action in this circumstance, and saved you from a delirious and dangerous individual."

Mordecai took the card, a simple black and red bordered design with the Sheriff's picture, badge number, and work extension, "Do you know what's going on?"

He shook his head, "No one does. If you have somewhere safe to go, get there."

Looking down to the bloody knife, he nodded, "Best keep that with you."

Snapping the cylinder closed, he stepped over their attacker and left, jogging past the square only to stop and look through the gate.

"Get out of here!" he shouted back and continued in full sprint.

"That entrance was full of people!" Mordecai yelled.

"What do we do?!"

A shadow stretched over them as the far too close hull of an airplane soared overhead, one wing half missing and the one remaining engine engulfed in flame.

"The park!" he shouted while cleaning the blade- the very same Filet-er he'd seen before- with his definitely ruined clothes, "We have to get the group together and figure out what to do next!"

* * *

Alright, that's all you get for the introduction.

So, if you want more, there'll be more. I'll give it a week and check the traffic stats.

Thanks for reading!


	2. (1) My Hometown

Alright, seemed like it went over pretty good, so here's the next chapter.

Thanks to RegularShowMemorabilia for sacrificing a few of his OC's for the cause. Your internet cookie is in the mail, and they will appear in a couple chapters.

* * *

**[][October 1, 2:59P.M][]**

Everything was as perfect as it could get. How long it would stay so was another matter.

The cleaned tables were now laden with trays of grilled food- the hotdogs being a much lower quality than last time, Benson's idea- and chilled two-liters of soda. The second table was a safe distance away and it served to bear the buns, chips, condiments, and several containers of Wing Kingdom wings. It goes without saying, Muscle Man was nearing the end of his patience supply.

"Where are they?!" he shouted, slamming the table with his fists as he did so.

Thomas quickly grabbed his toppling soda can in time to save his laptop from a sugary bath. Moving the can off the table and onto the ground, he returned to his typing.

"Relax," Benson said, looking down at the walkie in his hand, "They'll be here shortly."

Futilely sending another ping, he listened as the static echoed from the handset as it had for the past five minutes.

'I didn't think it'd be that far out of range,' he thought, eventually looking away from it.

As a precaution, Skips moved in between the two tables, hoping that Muscle Man's frantically planning mind would lose interest.

"Yeah, dude, chill!"

As if just recognizing the form of Fives beside him, he leaned in closer, "Okay, here's the plan. You distract Skips, and I'll take the wings."

"No way," he answered, floating backward.

"Thomas?"

Looking away from the nearly finished term paper, he shook his head, "I'm happy with the way my face is configured."

"Fine," he said, a determined look creeping onto his face, "More for me."

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late," Eileen said with a tired voice, "The boss wasn't too happy about me leaving early."

"Glad you could make it," Benson said absent mindedly while he fiddled with the knobs on the handset.

Looking over the neatly laid out party supplies, she blinked, "Rigby isn't here?"

Waving the device, he shook his head, "He went to meet Mordecai and we haven't heard back from him yet."

Slinging her bag from her shoulder to her hand, she began rummaging inside, "I'll try his cell."

"I'm not sure that'd help," Skips said as he awkwardly held up the phone, his face giving the description of a long story.

"Just as well," she said with a sigh, "I forgot my phone at the diner."

"There's still time to grab it," Benson said, yet another ping leaving the walkie.

Giving a nod, she turned to leave, "I'll be right-"

Everyone's eyes flew to the object in Skips' hand, the ringtone being an 8-bit recreation of Summertime.

"Seriously?" Thomas asked, returning to his laptop.

"Answer it," Benson said, "It might be him."

As Skips began to fumble it open, Muscle Man cautiously rose from his seat and began sneaking toward the table.

"Which one?" Skips asked, motioning to the assortment of buttons.

"The green one."

Pressing it, he lifted the phone to his head, "Hello?"

Thomas blinked, watching as the lines of interference on his laptop began to worsen. Tapping the screen didn't help any, and it wasn't long before the color drained and the computer turned off.

"No!" he shouted, "I was almost finished!"

Turning to ask Fives if he knew what happened, he froze as his heart skipped then increased it's production.

The usual off white color of the ghost was now rapidly changing, seeming to pulse brightly and crackle amid the pained look on his face. Along with the appearance change, a pained form of gurgling and grunting began to emanate from his mouth.

Unaware if it was really happening in front of him or his mind was creating an alternate, albeit strange, instance of what was happening, the confused and frightened form of Fives began to disappear.

Thomas tumbled over the bench as he fell backwards, landing in a heap on the grass behind him.

Eileen's scream brought him back to his senses while alerting him to the event happening only a few feet away.

Rigby's phone lay forgotten on the ground, the large yet struggling form of Muscle Man having occupied both of Skips' hands. Amid the shrieks and squeals, an outpour of nonsense was spewing from Skips' mouth. Realizing what was about to happen, he averted his gaze and looked to the ground in front of him, the sun thrown shadow showing the large silhouette of Skips tearing the arms from the second. Thomas watched as the flurry of what could only be blood rained onto the ground.

**[][][]**

**Part 1: **

**Chapter 1: My Hometown**

"_I hope this song finds you well.  
__And I hope that you're doin' fuckin' swell.  
__I hope that you're back up if you've ever been down._

_And I hope you got the fuck out of our hometown."_

- Bowling For Soup

**[][October 1, 3:47P.M.][]**

"So," Rigby said, his voice barely audible over the blaring car alarms and sirens from the city behind them.

Mordecai continued walking, every footstep away from the madness they'd seen a small flicker of sanity returned.

"So," Rigby said louder, increasing his pace to keep up, "Can we stop for a second?"

"What?"

"Stop," Rigby said again, motioning to the side of the road, "Take a little break."

Mordecai turned and risked a glance back, the city of Belmont nothing more than a smudge of oil blackened smoke amid a flare of flames. Several gunshots rang out in the distance, several short pops followed by the faint clunk of a shotgun.

"Alright, but only for a second."

Nodding, they stepped to the side of the road they were walking and crouched into the safety of the vegetation beyond the rusted and battered guard-rail.

As Mordecai slung down his backpack he noticed his right hand had been on the handle of the blade tucked into his pocket the entire time. How far back that was, he couldn't recall, but it was definitely since they passed the gas station.

**[][][]**

Following the trail of abandoned vehicles, it wasn't long until they reached the neon lit and sun faded sign of the 'AM/PM One Stop' station, it's four rows of fuel pumps now occupied by the burning remains of a mini-van, the stickers in the window informing of three children, a mother and a father that met a fate too horrendous to comprehend.

"Come on!" Mordecai shouted while he read the face of his watch, his voice little more than a croak, "We have to get out of the city!"

Peeking around a pump adjacent to the mini-van, he stared into the darkened entrance of the building. The only signs of light were small emergency bulbs installed along the top of the wall overlooking the counter.

"Who knows what we're going to run into along the way?" he hissed back, moving from one row to the next until he was a dash away from the entrance.

"Rigby!" he shouted.

From his new position beside an ice cooler near the shattered glass doors, Rigby waved for him to move in, "It's clear!"

Mordecai looked back at the trail of carnage they'd traveled, his ears picking up the faint shuffling of footsteps from a side road too close for comfort.

"Damn it," he mumbled as he sprinted across the lot, falling into cover beside his careless companion.

"I don't see anyone inside," he whispered as he began to inch around the cooler.

Grabbing the back of his jacket, Mordecai pulled him back, "You're not going in there!"

"Of course I'm not," he said, pulling free from his grasp, "We are."

"No way, dude! Did you miss everything that's happening?!"

"We have a long walk ahead of us! There might be a gun in there and definitely some water!"

Moving to grab him again, he was too late and the crouching raccoon dashed inside, tripping over a toppled display. Sighing at the amount of noise that was just generated, he followed, stepping over the display while avoiding the scattered remains of the trampled sunglasses that used to adorn it.

"Rigby?!"

No answer.

Against his better judgment, he continued farther inside.

The power had failed recently owing to the lack of lights and the emergency ones being engaged, most likely powered by a battery backup system that was also keeping the wall of drink coolers operational. Even with the lights being low-wattage LEDs, he didn't think the battery would hold another hour, if that.

"Rigby?!" he tried again, this time receiving a barely audible squeak from an interior door.

Diving below the counter, he sat with his back against the plastic advertisement board and held his breath. He heard the shuffling again and looked through the open doorway. Approaching from the road they had just been walking, a man in his mid forties sporting a blood stained T-shirt and tattered cargo shorts stumbled toward him, his attention being occupied by the blinking screen of a twisted fuel pump.

Glancing around the counter for Rigby, he crouch-ran toward the other end of the store, taking shelter behind a cart of motor oil and cell phone chargers.

The footsteps were now at the main doors, the sound of the display being kicked away adding to the noise they'd created only moments before.

The man wavered back and forth, his head darting back and forth before settling on the humming coolers.

Emitting a loud howl mixed with the nonsense talk, he began to approach the far wall when a loud thud from the backroom stops him.

Turning his whole body in the direction the sound came from, his head tilted to the side as he staggered forward, stopping when he met resistance from the folding countertop. Barely maintaining balance, he stepped back and looked at the small door. The noises from the back room continued, prompting him to repeatedly dash forward, the sound of ribs cracking along with the hinges giving way echoing to the back of the store where Mordecai was hiding.

Mordecai covered his ears, but it was useless against the snarling and babbling. It wasn't long before the insane, but determined victim of the day's madness broke through, triggering an alarm that was installed below it.

Momentarily dazed by the sudden drone of the beeping alarm, the man looked around and shouted again.

More footsteps and shouts were coming from outside, and he knew it wouldn't be long before the station was overrun.

"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered as he rushed to the counter and drew the knife.

Lunging at the taller target, he quickly wrapped his arms and legs around him as he repeatedly stabbed the blade into his chest. Growling with what could only be pain, he began to thrash back and forth, bumping into the machines and items behind the counter, but couldn't shake him off. The thrashing began to slacken until he fell forward onto his knees in a pool of his own blood.

Mordecai released his hold and stumbled backward on his rubbery legs, the adrenaline coursing through his veins only serving to numb his body to the point of weakness.

Panting and bracing a shaking arm against an now empty counter, he looked down at the corpse of what was momentarily ago a living, breathing if not sane creature.

The door swung open and Rigby stepped through with a sigh, "No luck."

He froze, his widened eyes flashing from the blood covered and out of breath Mordecai to the twitching corpse in front of him, misshapen pools of blood still forming around his even bloodier T-shirt.

"Dude!"

With a glare as sharp as the blade held in his shaking hand, he removed the last of his shirts and tossed the tattered backpack at him, "Fill it up, quickly."

"Hold on," he asked as he awkwardly grasped the bag, "What hap-?"

"First, you ran into the back without checking, then you make enough noise to attract half the city! Fill the damn bag, we have to get out of here!"

Rigby hesitated for a moment, a mix of scornful realization at the truth keeping him silent.

Without muttering another word, he left to ransack the remains of the havoc strewn shop.

Nausea bubbling up his throat, Mordecai looked away from body. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the deed he'd committed with the stolen knife while he began to use the shirt to wipe the spatters of blood from his face and hands.

**[][][]**

"Here," Rigby said quietly, handing the still chilled bottle of water to Mordecai.

Looking up, startled away from his own thoughts, he stared at the bottle for a moment before taking it.

The trembling nearly subsided, he turned the cap and felt the soft crack of the seal breaking. Lifting it to his mouth, the churning in his stomach caused him to hesitate, a deep breath succeeding in forcing it away for the time being.

As the cool water poured into his mouth he became aware of just how dehydrated he was. Half the bottle later, he returned the cap and sighed.

Rigby, setting his own bottle aside, ripped open a pack of jerky and pulled a large piece from inside. Looking from the piece in his hand to the pack, he held it toward him.

Knowing that soon his body would begin feeling the fatigue of the amount of work it had been doing to keep up- not only physically, but perhaps mentally even more so- and decided it'd be wise to force down what he could.

Selecting several pieces of his own, he handed the rest back and began gnawing on the smallest he'd grabbed.

The silence remained while they rested, the only noise at all being the far off popping of gunfire and explosions. A fire truck's wail reached them but was gone a moment later.

Rigby chuckled and gulped down more water.

Mordecai looked from the small assembly of ants that had attracted his attention and leveled his gaze onto the raccoon.

Replacing the cap to his bottle he sighed, "Everything goes to shit and here we are, enjoying a roadside picnic."

'Not everything,' Mordecai thought, 'Not yet.'

But still, the more he thought on it- enjoying the reprieve of the image of the dead man- the more he felt like laughing. And at last he did, starting as a series of shaking, eventually progressing to full blown exclamation. Rigby watched for a moment, realizing the reason that he'd all but forgotten in the many years that had passed, and joined in.

Mordecai sighed, the grin remaining on his face, "Is that what we're to become, Burbridge? STALKERS in a world that-" pausing to glance at the cracked dial of his watch, "Only an hour ago used to belong to us?"

"No way," Rigby shouted back, "You're Burbridge! I'm Redrick!"

Shaking his head, "Nope, you're too short to be Redrick."

Rigby crosses his arms, "Figures, the one book I ever enjoyed reading, and I get stuck being Burbridge."

Mordecai shoved his remaining jerky into his pocket along with the water and climbed to his feet, "Well, I guess you could be Monkey."

With a sigh he shoved everything back into the bag and slung it to his shoulder, "Burbridge it is."

* * *

Alright, sorry it took so long. I'll have the next one up as soon as I can.

Thanks for reading.


End file.
